Leaning his broad shoulders against a tree, he tossed Dafydd his helm, then folded his arms across his chest. The wind ruffled his tawny hair while he waited, watching her as if he had all day. Standing close-by, Elise shifted from one foot to another, needing company in the woods. Netta was much in need of a visit there herself. Her face heated, realizing she could no longer delay dismounting.
“You may assist me.” She waited. Was he bonded to the tree? Was it possible he had suffered a hearing loss in battle? Speaking louder, she informed him, “I have changed my mind. You may assist me,” she repeated.
He did not move. Except his eyelids. They narrowed even more over a frosty stare. She began to rethink her request.
“Please. I require your aid to dismount, sir.”
He pushed away from the tree and moved close. She caught his scent. Not a stale odor like her father. Nor the sweaty smell she had begun to expect from her suitors. For certs, it was far more troubling. It made her heart beat faster, and a heated sensation flowed from her breasts to her stomach.
Mereck lifted her to the ground, his large hands causing her skin to quiver where he grasped her. Must he hold her so close to his body? She inhaled, deeply. Hmm. His scent. Juniper and musk. And man. She blinked in surprise as heat rushed through her. Smiling, Mereck released her and motioned for Dafydd to lead them to a private area.
If her legs were not so numb, she would show that sluggard Lightning a thing or two about fast moving as they headed for the woods. She and Elise were soon alone.
“Netta. What if wild beasts are awaiting us?”
“After the noise of our horses and the men stomping around, I doubt even a grasshopper is about.”
Elise needed no more encouragement.
Not long after, Netta saw an arm-length piece of wood come crashing down through a nearby tree.
“Saints! You were wrong. A boar is after us.” Elise hurtled toward her through the bushes.
Hearing muffled laughter from the clearing, Netta scowled.
“Huh! No beast, but a foolish warrior trying to affright us. Come. We should pretend we did not note it.” Netta took Elise’s arm and marched back to the clearing with her.
Mereck frowned at the men who watched them still chuckling. The warriors hastily went about the business of eating dried strips of beef and bannocks made of barley flour.
Angus, Mereck’s appointed cook, unpacked large sacks tied to a pack horse. Beneath a birch tree, the squires spread a wool blanket atop a cushion of leaves.
“Once you have served us, Netta, you may take your meal with us,” Mereck ordered.
His words startled her, until she remembered she was to assume duties she had never performed. Elise started to follow, but Mereck steered her to the blanket and helped her to sit. Netta thought she saw a slight smile on his face.
She was unsure of how to continue. Shrugging her shoulders, she unfolded a cloth and began to pile bannocks, a large chunk of cheese, and several roasted chicken legs on it. She selected a hard piece of barley bread, and piled it with honey. Enough food for several men covered the cloth. But was it enough for her also?
Picking up the corners of the cloth, she started to lift it. She looked toward Mereck, where he lounged beside Elise and Marcus. Her stomach rumbled. Would it never quiet? She sat the cloth down, grabbed extra chicken and bannocks, and hurried to them.
“The woods are damp this time of year. I note Lady Elise has stepped in a puddle,” Mereck commented as Netta joined them. His lips twitched, for Elise quickly folded her legs beneath her skirts. As Netta dumped the food on the blanket, he ordered, “When we make camp this night, you will tend to her clothing. You dinna want your mistress uncomfortable.”
Netta bobbed her head. She watched Mereck serve Elise and himself, and then offer the food to Marcus, before placing it on the blanket near her. He did not serve her as he had Elise.
Netta kept her gaze lowered while she ate, for whenever she looked up, she found Mereck’s green eyes studying her. She choked down a dry bannock. He had served himself and Elise all the honey she had scooped onto the largest piece of flat barley bread. She loved honey. Without it, her bannock was tasteless.
Did he not see he left her such a small portion of food, she would likely faint from hunger afore they camped this night?
Mereck’s lips were twitching again. Did he have an itch?
Engrossed with her thoughts, she did not notice he had finished his meal until he stood. By his pointed look, he waited for her to note Elise had already risen. Netta shot to her feet, tossing crumbs from her tunic.
She picked up the blanket, shook it out and started to fold it. Mereck nodded his satisfaction before he went over to Marcus. The two were soon deep in conversation.
He was taller than Marcus, about nineteen hands tall. She eyed Mereck, assessing his weight. About fifteen stone, she decided. Broader about the shoulders than Marcus, also. The length of his legs caught her interest. As if feeling her perusal, they shifted restlessly, the muscles flexing with his movements.
Shards of apprehension sliced through her as she studied Mereck’s muscular body.
His massive frame reminded her of someone. She frowned, searching her memory.
Who?
Icy fingers of fear whispered down her back.
Chapter 4
“This Mereck is the most unchivalrous warrior it has been my mishap to know.” Netta, her forehead crinkled with annoyance, grasped Lightning’s mane and leaned closer to Elise. “He is such an enormous man. He has his way about everything. Why, rats and fleas. I vow he would not shrink from murder.”
Elise turned, her mouth agape. Mayhap Netta should soothe her afore she fell from her mount.
“If warranted when pillaging and raiding, of course,” she added and shook her head. “’Tis all warriors do.”
Elise straightened in her saddle and hiccuped. “My parents told me these men are not like the savage Scots we have heard about but are much like our own Saxon warriors.”
Netta looked around at the men escorting them. “Highlanders do dress differently.” She studied the men nearest them. “Some wear plaids belted around their waist or loose shirts over breeches. Marcus and some warriors still wear heavy hauberks and helms.”
During their stop earlier, Mereck had removed his heavy battle apparel and donned a shirt. She glimpsed the bronze skin of his chest and a mat of tawny hair peeking through the shirt’s opening. A thick leather belt held his plaid at his waist, and his broadsword hung from a holder strapped to his back.
“Have you not noticed?” Elise’s brows rose. “Their parents failed to civilize them. Mother would be shocked and Father would scold and deem we cover our eyes.”
“Shocked? Cover our eyes?” Netta peered around but didn’t see anything startling.
“They do not wear anything under their skirts,” Elise said in a loud whisper.
“Surely they are not naked.” Netta lowered her head and peered through her lashes.
“While we supped, a man raised his skirt to scratch. Blessed Saint Mary. Do they all have hairy arses?” Elise’s red face rivaled the roses in the Wycliffe gardens.
“Nay. For certs he must be the only one. Do not think on it.” Netta’s wide-eyed gaze searched for something to distract her friend—and herself. “Quick. See that goat jumping over a bush taller than himself. He ran like hounds are chasing him.” She wondered if she herself would be much interested in watching for animals from now on. Men were far more intriguing. “And heather. Is it not lovely?”
Hmm. Was it possible the man Elise saw was unusual? She looked at Mereck just as an enlightening gust, and the horse’s movements, hoisted the side of his plaid. Curly brown hair on his thigh rustled with the breeze. Her gaze glued to the sight of hard muscles flexing to control his spirited mount. Aye. This mode of dress was most interesting.
Netta ducked her head on seeing Mereck glance back at her. Had he noted her shameful study of his exposed flesh? Sh
e had no brothers, no cousins, uncles or male relatives living at Wycliffe. Only Father. He never allowed her to assist visitors who came to the castle. He assigned one of her stepsisters the duty of bathing them, hoping they would entice a wealthy man’s interest.
Mereck turned often to study her and Elise. He frowned and waited beside the path for them to come abreast.
“Netta, do you not deem it needful to watch the path?”
“Nay, sir. I trust Lightning to follow in line,” she stammered. Her gaze strayed to his bare knees peeking below his plaid. Her face heated like she suffered from an ague.
His probing, green gaze studied her. She glanced away, but wind again flirted with the material. She swallowed and stared. Oh my, how can legs be so intriguing? How would the hair on a man’s body feel? Is it silky or coarse? Does it cover his arse like Elise had seen? Of a sudden, the savage she fled popped into her mind. He must be covered with coarse hair from his head to his toes. She shuddered, picturing it.
Mereck felt no pain on hearing Netta’s inquisitive thoughts. Far from it. He swallowed a chuckle that near burst forth. Her curious gaze felt like soft fingertips whispering over his heated flesh. He adjusted the plaid to hide the telltale tent betwixt his legs and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Knowing she belonged to him made his heated blood pound through his body. His manhood hardened and jerked with impatience. Perchance, he would enjoy a wife who made him laugh. God knew he’d had little mirth in his life.
He looked forward to the day she would have the opportunity to explore him. She was comely, lovely even. Was her hair beneath that scarf as raven black as her brows? And the thatch betwixt her legs? Darker yet, shielding her secret delights?
He pictured her without her disguise. Without clothing. Magnificently naked. His manhood acted like an untried youth’s. Disgusted, he shifted again.
They rode till the sun began to dip and Mereck called a halt. He strode over the damp ground to lift Netta off Lightning. He stood too close when he swung her down, brushing her against his body. His heat seared her. Her face flushed. She avoided his eyes and hurried ahead, not reckoning with the wet earth. Misty rain had fallen much of the day, and her too-large shoes hit a patch of muddy leaves. Her feet skidded from beneath her.
“Uhfff.” Her fall knocked the breath out of her. Ick! She crinkled her nose in distaste for the sour smell of rank vegetation hidden under the leaves. The unpleasant feel of her hips resting on squishy mud made her wish to grab Mereck’s knees to scramble off the ground. When she looked up ready to grasp him, the sight that greeted her eyes near made her gasp.
Netta lay on her back, her head nearly between Mereck’s feet. She blinked, fast as a hawk’s wings, like a startled child. As he squatted beside her, her face flamed so bright he fancied he felt the heat on his ankles. Why was she so distressed over a simple spill in the mud?
“Dinna move. I would see if you have an injury.” Mereck felt her head for any swelling, knowing how dangerous a blow there could be. Her head scarf hampered feeling her scalp. He tugged off the binding, releasing long, silky black curls to spill over his hands and onto the wet ground. He growled with satisfaction. One question was answered.
Netta tried to struggle away. He gripped her chin to hold her still.
Jesu. Such beautiful eyes.
Never had he seen as deep a blue. They were not small and set wide apart like the Saxon’s idea of beauty, but large and placed just right. The portion of her right eye that caused such displeasure was as clear and bright as a golden wildflower in spring. Pleased, he studied the rest of her face while he held her prisoner with his hands.
Netta’s brows curved full and elegant, her left cheek unblemished. Her forehead rose high and showed intelligence. Full lips trembled and tempted him to plunder them with his own.
His betrothed hid much that appealed to him.
Netta grinned up at him.
A wide grin that showed all her teeth.
She thought to discourage him? “Ahumpf.” He strangled a chuckle, for the stain on her teeth was clearly faked.
“I dinna believe you are injured, girl, though you have wallowed in mud. See you wash properly.” He eyed her hair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Mud-caked tresses provide a favorite nesting place for forest insects.”
She gasped and scrambled to her feet. He nodded to Dafydd and pointed to a pond just beyond the trees. The young man would see to it the area was safe.
Netta scrubbed her sudsy hair, fearing the creatures Mereck spoke of would fall from the trees and make a horrid writhing nest in her black curls. Finally satisfied no mud remained, she rinsed and scooped her tunic off the bank with the tips of her fingers. Mereck had spoken true. The back was covered with mud. She spread soap over it, then held it up and stared at it. Clumsy and unsure of how one went about washing clothes, she brought her hands close and bounced her knuckles together as she had seen the servants do. She looked to see the results. It was as dirty as before.
“Our laundress slaps the dirty spot,” Elise advised over Netta’s shoulder. “Like this.” She swatted at the soapy fabric and succeeded in splattering soap in their eyes.
“Nay, they beat their fists together.” Netta was sure of it. She pounded furiously, but the mud stubbornly clung to its new home. She gritted her teeth and muttered, “They were peasants. If they mastered the skill, it cannot be difficult to learn.” She fisted her hands and ground them together, ready to tear the tunic to shreds.
“Oh, Netta. See how the mud rolls off?” Elise grabbed her stockings and imitated Netta’s angry moves.
They grinned at each other and splashed from the water. Soon Netta was dressed in a light yellow tunic that Elise had worn when she was but ten and four. The garment was a perfect fit for Netta’s small frame.
Elise dabbed the crushed berry juice on Netta’s cheek and neck until she was satisfied with the effect. “Ech, how can you bear this horrid stuff on your face?”
Netta shrugged and uncorked the small vial of nut stain. “Which teeth did I blacken this morn? The two in the middle?”
“Uh, the middle? Was it not near the side?” Elise tilted her head and studied Netta. “Aye, I am near certain of it.” She nodded and added the nut stain to Netta’s teeth.
“We are ready to return, Dafydd,” Netta called out as she tucked her concoctions away in her pocket.
Within a pair of heartbeats, the young man appeared and took the freshly washed garments from them.
Angus was already serving their evening meal when they came into camp. Mereck stood waiting. After they settled on the blanket and started to eat, he and Marcus discussed their plans for the following day.
Their preoccupation suited Netta, but she soon felt Mereck’s gaze on her face. Could he see beyond her disguises? Lowering her head, she leaned closer to Elise and whispered, “Mereck watches me like a bug pinned by a cat’s paw. What could be the matter?”
“Could it be the odious stuff on your cheek? Or teeth that beg pulling by a farrier’s tongs? You disguised yourself well. We cannot let him know you are Lynette until we are so far from Wycliffe he will be unable to return you to your horrible savage.”
Netta shuddered, imagining the giant wild man stalking her. She could not chance being hauled back and forced to marry a creature who filled her with terror.
“Netta, it has been many moons since we visited. You told me of Baron Durham, but how did you thwart Roger of Mortain’s suit? By the time Father heard of him, Mortain was long gone.”
Netta shuddered, remembering her fear of the cruel man. Between him and Baresark, she was not sure which man frightened her more. “I sought to discourage him when I told him I was no longer a virgin and was unable to have babes.”
Elise gasped and put her hand to her throat.
“Netta, you spoke of such with him?”
“I wished only to be rid of him.” She reached up and touched her cheek. “I can yet feel the sting of his hand. He demanded I allow him to sampl
e my body. I refused, and he tried to beat me into obedience. Father’s men-at-arms came upon us and escorted him from the castle. But not because Roger mistreated me. Father learned his sire tired of his cruelty to his tenants. To curb him, the baron tightened his purse strings, allowing him but a mere pittance in coins.”
Netta shuddered and forced the unpleasant thoughts of the Mortain family from her mind.
Mereck’s sympathy stirred at the thought of the Baron’s cruelty in trying to rid himself of his daughter. Lady Maud had told him Wycliffe’s hatred for Lynette was well known.
Bleddyn knew, for he saw to it Mereck was there at that crucial time. Had he not, another man would have laid claim to what rightfully belonged to Mereck—Caer Cad-well. His mother had escaped the slaughter of her family at Cad-well. Donald Morgan found her close inside the Scottish border and took her home to Blackthorn. Mereck was birthed the following year.
Netta belonged to Mereck now. His wife by contract, and soon-to-be-wife by vows.
His.
Caer Cad-well would again belong to a descendant of Gruffyd ap Tewdwr, his great-great-grandfather.
He bounded to his feet, startling the women. Elise scrambled up, but Netta did not move, not even when he crooked a finger at her.
He reached down and grasped her hand. She soon stood.
“Come, I will show you where you sleep this night.”
Mereck enjoyed the feel of her soft hand enveloped in his, like a small, restless kitten as she tried to pull away. He did not release her until they reached the small tent Dafydd had prepared. It would be cozy on chilly nights, nights that would become colder yet as they made their way to the Highlands.
Midnight s Bride Page 5
